Nothing to Lose
by Zinoviya
Summary: One thing leads to the next, and then it ends, like everything does.


_This is it. I'm finally going to do it. I won't have to keep on with this stupid, stupid lie. I'm going to be free._

I stood there, remembering all of the reasons that I had come to this. I knew there were people that were going to be upset, but I was fed up with this, I had had enough.

_The streets were empty, no one to keep me company but the darkness on the ground shaped in the outline of my body. The air felt moist against my skin as I listened to the wind whistling past my ears, the only sound I ever heard at this time of day, with the exception of my footsteps and the occasional rustle of my bag. I looked ahead, keeping my eyes on the dark clouds ahead. I could already hear a bit of thunder._

_This was the one time of day where I could just get away from it all. I was alone, I could go through my thoughts without any interruption, and there were no insulting voices._

_I felt a drop of water fall onto my nose. _And here it goes._ The rain fell, drop by drop, onto my body, and I could feel each one, cooling me, as if trying to soothe the burning fire in my heart. I was a lost cause, however, and I knew that nothing could ever stop this, not even a flood. It was hopeless, and there was no use in denying the truth._

_I wanted to just lose myself in it. Just to disappear, even for a moment, would be bliss. To stay there, and melt into the ground, seep through the cracks, where no one would disturb me, and I could be one with the rain._

Every day repeated itself the next. Wake up, morning routine, walk to school, school, walk home, cry, write, eat, bed, repeat. Nothing ever changed.

School was the worst part. Every day I would sit there, pretend to listen to the lessons, and the shit from other kids. I was teased a bit in elementary, middle school was bad, but high school was horrible. A complete nightmare. I never heard the end of all the "go kill yourself, Sas-gay", "stupid emo", and "gay fag".

I was always alone. Alone forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was nothing to the world, and the world was nothing to me. Nothing good ever happened, and I eventually became immune to the bad. At first it seemed boring, but then it didn't matter. I was invisible to the world. The teasing and bullying stopped, and it was as if I didn't exist. I eventually put a mirror into the side of my locker, just so I could make sure that my reflection was there when I looked into it I between periods.

At lunch, I would just take what others would call 'a puny excuse for even a snack' and take it into the bathroom. I would sit on the floor or in a stall, and sometimes just watch myself eating in the mirror. I remember I always thought that I looked like a robot; emotionless, running on batteries that were replaced every night.

I looked at the gun intently, waiting for the second thoughts to come, but they didn't. That's how I knew this was it. It was time. I brushed my hand over it, feeling the coldness of the metal biting into my hand, especially the palm. _It won't feel that cold once this is over._ I put my hand around the handle of the weapon, and then squeezed.

I lifted it up into the air. I took a while to admire the beauty of it, how it shined in the artificial light from my lamp, the only light source on in the whole house. I saw my reflection on the shiny surface, and my face looked contorted with pain and sorrow, yet held together with hope that it would soon end, and it would.

But there was one part of the day that I really did enjoy. Art, the one class when I had _him. _none of the stupid immature assholes were in that class, either. But I would just sit there, starring at the back of his fiery red hair, daydreaming about a future that would never happen. A hopeless dream, where I lived with _him_, he was my husband, and he loved me just as much as I loved him. He would come home from work in the early afternoon, and we would spend the rest of the day together. He would look back at me lovingly with those mysterious sea green eyes and that sexy smirk.

He was the school's punk. He did what he wanted, spoke his mind (even if the result was detention), and didn't give one shit about what people thought of him. This is how it went: If he didn't like you, you feared him. If he didn't care about you, you were either a hater or you admired him. If you were his friend, he seemed as if he was the most awesome person on earth. And then there were the fan girls. No matter what he thought of them, they practically worshipped him.

And then there was me. I used to keep a diary, until that one day.

_Down the hall I could see them. They were right there, and I walked faster, hoping to avoid their sight. I had no such luck. "Hey fag, what'cha got for us today, huh?" They then saw my diary, and were suddenly interested. "What's that, fag?" They went for it, and I tried desperately to keep it away from them. They soon saw my deepest, darkest secret._

_"Oh, so Sas-gay has a crush on __**Gaara**__, huh?" He made sure to be loud enough so that everyone else in the hall could hear. I turned completely red, and right as they started laughing, their grip on the notebook loosened, and I took my chance. I ripped it out of their hands and ran. I ran out the door, and ran, and ran, and ran. When I got to my house my eyes and cheeks were already drenched, and I flopped onto my bed crying. 'Just when you think you're at rock bottom,' I thought, 'some asshole just has to throw you a shovel.'_

_The next day, it seemed as if everyone knew. The rumors had spread to just about everyone in the span of 7th period and morning the next day. I was sitting on the stairs when the same jerks came up to me. "So, when're you gonna ask him?" They said it in a mocking voice. The rest of the day was Hell._

Gaara's art was dark and creative. It always fascinated me to get a glimpse of what was in his mind. The teacher said that him and I were probably the best artists in the entire school. I once asked him what he thought of me, and all he said was, "I respect you as a fellow artist."

From that point onward, I felt as if I was invisible to him. I was turning immune to the teasing and bullying, and so they stopped, and I became invisible.

There was a knock on the door. I ignored it, hoping that I had locked it. Apparently not, because the handle slowly turned, and I could hear the door open up. My blood ran cold as the footsteps echoed in the living room, and them down the hall.

My first thought was_, I need to hurry, I don't want to be stopped again. _But I was frozen to the spot. I then took a deep breath, and breathed it out heavily. I did this a few times, and I was able to move my arm. I nuzzled the end of the gun under my chin at an angle that would allow it to hit my brain.

The footsteps were almost right out the door. As the door opened, I braced myself to pull the trigger. As the door slowly opened, I saw more and more of what was behind it, and I felt as if the world was in slow motion. Behind the door stood none other than Gaara, who had a bouquet of roses in one hand. His eyes windward in shock and fear.

My eyes froze on the roses. _So, it wasn't one sided. It's sad that he's too late._ I saw his lips form a word that was my name, and right before I pulled the trigger, I said the last words I ever would.

"Good bye."


End file.
